Silences. Heavy and dark. Perhaps this is how the first women and men stared at unknown caves, their souls crushed because they weren't afraid at all. Their minds blank as they stared into oblivion. Their eyes merely echoes of forlorn silences as they grwe suddenly afraid for their humanity, my god, our gods, where did it go?, how can we stare into the still abyss and feel nothing, so much as a fleeting memory, anything, please, silences are heaviest in darkness, where thoughts are guardian angels against the demon of solitude.

This is perhaps our destiny. To look into the dark abyss of the future and feel nothing at all, to see our mind's movement, to judge it unable and useless, buccaneer as it is, since minds are no longer profitable assets in a world of quantity. To try and feel envy at our better off siblings. To force upon our throats, to be happy because a lump suddenly appears and we are again able to stroke our lonely hearts, nourished in the desert.

This is the great tragedy of our time. Humans are no longer a mystery; humanity is increasingly an enigma. The day will come when we will not know why emptiness feels wrong. Laughter will seem strange and magical, a story of times past. And we will try, but it will crash into our ears, glowing.